Friday is the 50th anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s assassination, and reams of copy have already been written about it. Today I’ll add my version.

It was Friday afternoon, and I was in sophomore typing class at Auburn High School. One of only three boys in the class, I was sometimes mocked for taking typing, which most people assumed boys did not need to know. My mom, who worked at the Rockford Morning Star, was not one of them; that’s why I was in the class.

At 1:05 p.m., Principal John Wyeth activated the intercom and told us that the president had been shot in Dallas, and that he would update us as soon as he knew more. We carried on with our lessons.

About 20 minutes later, Mr. Wyeth again broke in on the intercom, this time with the news that Kennedy had been pronounced dead; school was dismissed and would resume Tuesday. I don’t remember anyone crying, including the woman who taught us.

In the second floor hallway, I met up with three friends. We were shocked at what had happened. I don’t recall feeling particularly sad; these friends were fellow political junkies. We began speculating about the assassination’s effect on the 1964 presidential election. I backed Sen. Barry Goldwater, R-Ariz., who was running for president. I predicted that Goldwater would now be a cinch to be elected since he would not be running against JFK, but Lyndon Johnson. The Texan went on to win 44 of the 50 states. This is why I am wary of making electoral predictions.

I walked home with a couple other friends. Mom was home; she worked nights as a proofreader and figured her shift would be extremely busy. She had the TV on. I watched it on and off for the next four days. News alternated with somber music. There were no other programs on WREX-13 and WTVO-39, the two channels Rockford had.

The most graphic event captured live was on Sunday, when assassin Lee Harvey Oswald was shot by tavern-owner Jack Ruby as Dallas police brought Oswald through the basement of the police department to be transferred to the county jail. The chaos of the live broadcast was breathtaking.

My dad, who had fought in World War II, didn’t talk about the assassination. My mom, who was a war bride from England, was worried that “the Americans” would not know how to stage a dignified state funeral.

She was quite relieved Monday when we managed to get it right: a walking procession of Kennedys, a horse-drawn open carriage carrying JFK’s flag-draped coffin, a riderless horse and a drum line. Oh, and a procession of world leaders led by French President Charles DeGaulle and Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie, both resplendent in their military uniforms.

I went back to school, and adults went to work. Thanksgiving was not cancelled. We put up Christmas lights as we always had.

At the end of the 1963-64 school year, our typing teacher had us type a full page of what seemed to be hieroglyphics. When we pulled our papers from our typewriters, we realized we had typed an image of JFK’s face.